


Freedom of the city

by m_findlow



Category: Torchwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 12:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13481898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_findlow/pseuds/m_findlow
Summary: Jack returns from a trip to London with an unexpected gift for the team.





	Freedom of the city

Suzie watched as Jack sauntered into the hub, a smile on his face and a spring in his step. Knowing where he'd been, it made her intensely curious to know what had put him in such good spirits.

'Pussy cat, Pussy cat, where have you been?'

'I've been to London to visit the Queen. Well, the Ice Queen, anyway,' he clarified, grinning.

'We were half tempted to clear off before you got back,' Owen said. 'Figured you'd be in a right temper.'

'On the contrary, I was thinking we should all go out for lunch. Late lunch,' he added, inspecting the time on his watch.

Owen leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. 'What's got you so jolly? Don't tell me you shagged Hartman.'

Jack cringed and shuddered for dramatic effect. 'No chance. Even I still have some dignity left.'

Owen scoffed. 'That's debatable,' catching Suzie smirking as well.

Jack pulled the document from his great coat pocket, folded lengthwise to fit. It had seemed a shame to bend it, given what it was, but there had been nowhere else to put it. He unfolded it with great pride and held it up for the team to see.

'What's that?' Owen asked.

'I got a divorce. As of right now, Torchwood Three is no longer under the control of Torchwood One.'

'I don't believe it,' said Suzie, grabbing for the document from his hand, having to see the words for herself.

'Careful,' Jack joked, 'the ink has barely had a chance to dry.'

She looked up, still not quite able to comprehend it. 'When did all this happen?'

Jack shoved his hands in his pockets. 'About three hours ago.'

'You knew this was coming and you didn't say anything?' Suzie asked, slightly miffed to have been left out of the picture as Torchwood's second in command.

'I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up,' he explained. 'I didn't honestly think she'd agree to it.'

'Well,' Tosh said, piping up for the first time, 'that does start to explain why you've been so,' she paused, about to say "moody" and thinking better of it, 'well, not yourself.'

Jack laughed. 'It's okay Tosh, you can say it. I've been a grumpy, obnoxious git. I always am thinking about having to go to London and face the music.'

'That title usually gets reserved for me,' Owen muttered. 'Least now I won't have to finish that stupid costings report.'

'Not so fast, Owen. Just because we don't answer to Torchwood One anymore, doesn't mean we cut corners. We still have responsibilities, we still have to liaise with UNIT and the Home Office, and we still answer to the Crown. I expect things around here to be business as usual. No, wait, I take that back. I expect things to be better than usual. If you've got ideas, I want to hear them. We get the chance to make a fresh start with no restrictions and no limitations. If you need something, you tell me.'

'Every other Friday off?' Owen suggested, earning another smirk from Suzie.

'I'm serious guys. We might not have the manpower of London, but we're all that stands between this city and whatever comes through the rift.'

'I'm sure we could come up with a few suggestions,' Tosh added helpfully. 'I mean, nothing earth changing, but perhaps something that we wouldn't have necessarily tried before.'

Jack smiled warmly. 'I look forward to hearing them.'

'Yeah, yeah, alright,' Owen said, breaking up the warm and fuzzy moment. 'Last thing I heard was the boss was pulling his wallet out for lunch, so get your handbags girls. There's a pint of ale with all our names on it.'

Jack saw the cheery looks on all their faces and left them to get organised.

 

He took the document into his office and sat down at his desk, smoothing it out on the bureau and admiring it. Perhaps he could get it framed and hang it on the wall behind his desk, where he could gaze on it whenever he was having a bad day, knowing it could be worse.

It was still hard to believe it was actually in front of him, all there in black and white. He traced a tentative finger over the signature, the same one that had marked the bottom of every letter ever penned, denying this request or that. He half expected to need to scan it and check that it wasn't some newly developed ink that would fade into nothingness. He could picture Yvonne sitting there in her gleaming, glass-walled ivory tower, laughing at him as he watched her signature fade from the page, leaving him right back where he was, stuck under her administrative thumb.

It was the emancipation he'd waited years to earn. There'd be no more trips to London to grovel at the feet of an organisation that didn't care one way or another whether they existed or not. No more going there hat in hand to beg for money that would never come their way, no matter how flush the bank account was.

They had to make do with whatever pittance of a budget they'd been given, even though it was they who were being confronted by dangerous aliens and deadly technology on a weekly basis. No one seemed to care that they were the last line of defence between the rift and the rest of the world. There seemed to be a working assumption that anything that came through the rift might destroy Cardiff and that no one would be sad to see it go, but that it would stop there, and that London and the rest of the world were never in danger.

How wrong they were, and yet still they refused each and every one of his requests for financial aid, technological support and manpower. Not that he wanted a big team, only that every so often he could really use an extra body to help out with something specific. No doubt she'd probably only send him a spy, and the last thing he wanted was someone sniffing around the hub, uncovering things that he hadn't told them they had in their possession. Things that Torchwood One would surely like to get their hands on, but which were far too risky to have in any hands but his own.

He'd seen what they were capable of and he disliked it. To them, everything would be a weapon, and the whole planet would end up wiping itself out if he let them near half the cache of items he had hidden away. Being a Time Agent from the future had its advantages; he knew what terrible things lay ahead if they weren't careful. But there were times when they were sorely undermanned, and Torchwood One had people to spare. Most of them probably had no idea about half the things that went on there.

No, things would all change now. He'd still have to put up with some of the politics, and there would still be meetings, phone calls and conferences here and there, but now he'd be able to petition the Crown itself, and he and Liz had always been on good terms. Whatever London decided to do from now on, wouldn't be his problem. No longer would he go there and cast a baleful eye over this project or that, knowing that they were bordering on the dangerous, toying with things they didn't understand, putting everyone at risk. That was assuming he saw any of what they were up to. For the most part, Yvonne Hartman didn't want him to see any of it, ensuring he never got the fifty pence tour when he had to come by. She liked to hold all the cards, even though they were meant to be equals. There was nothing equal about it, but none of that mattered now. He'd be able to do things just how he liked, and not have to make a report to London, where his initiatives would be shunned or shut down altogether.

It was quite possibly the most important piece of paper that had been produced since Queen Victoria had first chartered the Institute in the first place. Finally he could put it to the purpose it was meant for - the one The Doctor had inadvertently charged him with - being absent for the better part of a century, with the odd exception, and never a timeline that coincided with his own. Until that day, he'd continue the good work that The Doctor had done, representing him, instead of being the organisation hell bent on his capture.

With one single piece of paper, the twenty-first century had changed, and now he could finally start getting ready for it.


End file.
